


Open Secrets

by pauraque



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: pornish_pixies, Cross-Generation Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-06-09
Updated: 2004-06-09
Packaged: 2017-10-28 19:08:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pauraque/pseuds/pauraque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are all part of the game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open Secrets

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Тайное и явное](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8221415) by [fandom_gerontophilia_2016](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandom_gerontophilia_2016/pseuds/fandom_gerontophilia_2016), [leqslant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leqslant/pseuds/leqslant)



> Written for the Threesome Challenge at Pornish Pixies, and to fulfill an additional informal challenge from Keladry of the "bet you can't write this" variety.

Peter puts his hands out blind in front of him, and there are wooden chess pieces in a box, clicking together and pinching his fingers with carved-smooth edges.

He reaches further in, and Ron is in his arms. There's no light, but Peter can see him anyway, eyes dark and accusatory, head tilted to the side. Freckles along the side of his neck, and Peter's hands move down, gripping his ribcage, his lean long waist. Peter closes his eyes and presses his mouth against Ron's stomach, kissing his belly button with tongue. That smell of— boy. Sharp, sour. _New_. Ron's strong hand holds the back of Peter's neck, now solid, now melting away.

Something furry passes over his back, and he thinks _Padfoot_ , but when he turns the fur isn't black, but long and white. He buries his face in it and breathes; it smells like a freshly polished old chair. It grows, curls over his shoulders, flicking and caressing— ( _Nagini_ ).

Hard, thin hands caress their way up his bare back and take hold of his face at the jaw line, pressing his head back. Peter looks into blue star eyes ringed with nightsky black, pushing him away and sucking him in. Jumps in and out of focus, like through someone else's glasses.

The wiry heat of Ron's body appears behind him, skin against skin, wet lips and teeth biting and sucking along Peter's shoulder. He is pinned between them, his arse pressed against Ron's thighs, Dumbledore's beard engulfing his chest and belly, thin lips marking dry kisses across his forehead.

'You knew,' Peter whispers desperately into Dumbledore's throat, through scratchy hair that gets in his mouth. 'You knew all the time. Didn't you?'

Dumbledore holds them both at once, the heels of his hands on Peter's thighs, and the fingertips on Ron's. He strokes them, and Peter can almost feel what Ron feels, but numbly, through a haze.

Ron's breath is moist on the back of Peter's neck, and Peter feels Ron's cock sliding between his arse cheeks, hot and red. Peter leans forward onto Dumbledore's bony shoulder, and Ron pushes into him, searing and trembling, too full.

Ron fucks him, gripping him by the belly. Dumbledore supports his weight and rubs the back of his head soothingly with his palms, and Peter is crying— has been crying forever. Ron's cock splits him open, questing and alive. Peter sobs and rubs himself against the robes that cover Dumbledore's leg, desperate to spill himself—

And he's standing in icy water, running over his toes, splashing like hot wax against his ankles—

Peter wakes up with a gasping jolt and comes convulsively, sitting up halfway. He twists and grasps at his cock through the tangled sheets, needing pressure and friction— He lets out a whining groan, clenching his thighs together.

As the climax fades, he lets his head fall back on the pillow, panting. It's so obvious now that it was a dream— vague sensations melting away like sugar compared to the dim, ordinary bedroom, the immediacy of threadbare sheets. He wipes sweat from his upper lip with the back of his wrist.

Another drop of cold on his foot— the leaky ceiling. He pulls his bare feet under the covers, frowning and curling up on his side, out of his wet spot.

When he turns, he sees that Ron is awake and looking at him, his mouth and nose covered with a blanket; narrowed eyes glint in the greyblue light through the curtains. Peter mumbles a sheepish, sleepy apology, and Ron rolls over with a grunt, pulling his blanket with him.

Peter edges closer to him, and tentatively strokes his rumpled, shaggy hair, his bare shoulder. Ron doesn't shrug him away, so he moves right up behind him, resting his forehead between Ron's shoulder blades.

He thinks of all the times they were in bed together when Ron was a boy. How lovingly Ron caressed his fur as they drifted to sleep. How gently he scratched between his ears.

Peter places his hand carefully on Ron's arm. 'You knew,' he murmurs.

**Author's Note:**

> This might make a little more sense with the awareness that it was written in the era when [Knight2King](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Knight2King) was a popular theory. Then again, it might not.


End file.
